


Prisoner's Dilemma

by helptheturtles



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Restraints, Some Humor, otto's a dick but strickler deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helptheturtles/pseuds/helptheturtles
Summary: Strickler gets captured during a mission for the Janus Order. Otto comes to help, but decides to mess with Strickler first.





	Prisoner's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> Ao3 had exactly zero (0) strickbach fics, so I felt obligated to fill the void.

Strickler wasn’t having the best day.

He tugged on the rope again, ignoring the throbbing pain in his wrists. Whoever tied them was clearly experienced – in the many hours Strickler had been conscious, they hadn’t loosed a bit. He wished he could at least see which knot they used, but his hands were bound behind his back. Sighing, he settled into the chair. There was no point in wasting his strength.

Why did the bridge piece have to be in a military base?

The Janus Order had agreed Strickler should take on this mission alone. They managed to intercept a soldier who was being relocated to the base, and Strickler had the perfect body type to pose as him. While stealth was more of Otto’s expertise, Strickler could certainly act. These missions weren’t uncommon. Strickler was used to charming his way through a dangerous place, then acquiring the desired relic (or eliminating the target) and slipping out before no one was the wiser. Unfortunately for him, the soldier’s brother had paid the base a surprise visit and identified Strickler as an imposter the moment he saw him.

In the ensuing battle, Strickler managed to take out four guards with the knives hidden in his jacket, but blades can only do so much around machines guns. He blacked out after being hit in the back of the head with a rifle, and woke some time later in a dark room with splitting headache. He took in his surroundings in an instant: concrete walls, a hinged floor lamp, a rolling rack of nasty-looking tools, and a half-asleep guard. A shiver ran down Strickler’s spine as he was reminded of the torture room in the Janus Order headquarters. He tried to reach for the switchblade in his pocket, but found he couldn’t move his hands. Or his feet, for that matter. The rope dug into his ankles as he shifted in the chair, and his wince drew the attention of the guard in the room, who proceeded to give Strickler a wicked grin.

The following hour was not a pleasant one.

Strickler could taste blood on his tongue as the guard left the room, clicking the door shut behind him. Physically, the encounter wasn’t as bad as it could have been, leaving Strickler with a broken rib and a handful of bruises. He’d mostly been grilled for information, then given “time to think” before the guard returned. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be so fortunate next time.

Even in such a desperate situation, Strickler still had a card up his sleeve. As a safety precaution, he was to report back to the Janus Order every six hours. There wasn’t a clock in this room, but he was certain it’d been at least eight hours since he passed out. Someone would surely be on their way by now. He only hoped they’d be quick enough.

The minutes continued to drag forward. In the silent room, Strickler had nothing to distract him from the pain in his jaw and the hemp digging into his skin. He strained to listen for sounds of battle, signaling his allies’ arrival, but all he could hear were his own ragged breaths. Exhaustion was taking over, and despite his best efforts to stay alert, Strickler found his eyelids drooping.

A soft sound from the hallway started Strickler back to attention: footsteps, growing closer. He held his breath as the door creaked open, bathing the gray walls in fluorescent light.

“Ready to talk?” It was the guard from before, his silhouette sauntering toward Strickler’s chair.

Strickler spat in his direction. The gob of saliva and blood landed at the guard’s feet, who slowly looked down to examine the transgression. His gaze returned to the changeling. “So that’s how you want to do things.”

With surprising speed, the guard moved forward to tower over Strickler. He bent down to look him in the eye, then clamped a hand around his jaw and tilted up his chin. Strickler bit back a yell, his jaw still tender from the guard’s earlier beating. Instead, he stared him in the eye and snarled.

“Hmm,” the guard hummed. “You really ought to be more careful, _mein Freund_.”

Strickler’s mouth went dry. He squinted at the guard, noticing his wide eyes, the quirk of his brow, the familiar wolfish grin. “Otto?”

The guard let go of Strickler’s chin, laughing as he stepped back. “I’m hurt. Usually you recognize me by now.” A flash of light spread over the room, and where the guard once stood was now a bespectacled man with slicked-back black hair. He’d lost his signature trench coat, wearing a suspenders with a simple white collared shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Strickler huffed. “I was expecting them to send more than a single agent.”

Otto reached for the lamp next to Strickler’s chair. “What, I’m not good enough for you?” He flicked the switch and swung the light to face the bound changeling. Strickler squeezed his eyes shut and let out a pained hiss, his eyes unaccustomed to the light after being stuck in the windowless room for so long.

Otto’s gaze ran over Strickler, taking in the cut on his cheekbone and large bruise on his jaw. For a moment, Strickler thought he saw a flash of concern on Otto’s face, but it was difficult to tell through the bright light.

The shapeshifter ran his thumb along Strickler’s split lip and clicked his tongue. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Strickler shifted, scowling into the empty space beside Otto. “Stop playing. The actual guard could show up at any minute.”

Otto chuckled, examining Strickler’s blood on his thumb. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He tilted the lamp back toward the floor. “He won’t be bothering you again anytime soon.”

There was something low in Otto’s voice that made Strickler’s palms sweat.

Otto hummed, staring at his thumb before wiping it off on Strickler’s chest. The lanky man glared at him. “What?” said Otto. “This is a new shirt, I’m not about to stain it.” He moved behind the chair and kneeled down to look at the rope holding Strickler’s wrists in place.

“Spanish bowline,” Otto muttered. He lightly ran a finger across Strickler’s pink skin, pausing when the man inhaled sharply. “You really shouldn’t have struggled so hard against this.”

Strickler rolled his eyes, even though Otto couldn’t see them. “Can you untie it?”

“Please,” Otto said with a scoff. “You of all people should know I can.”

Strickler closed his mouth, his retort dying in his throat.

The two stayed in silence as Otto worked. Strickler could feel the polymorph’s hands running over the rope, tugging at the knots. Gradually, the pressure against his wrists began to lessen. He let out a long breath, then stilled.

Someone was approaching.

Otto must have heard the footsteps, too. He paused briefly before continuing to work, cursing under his breath. Strickler could feel his heartbeat quicken as he trained his eyes on the door.

With a mutter of voices, the footsteps passed by, eventually fading to silence.

Strickler took a shaky breath. He anxiously tugged against the rope at his ankles. “Hurry it up,” he whispered.

“Patience,” said Otto. “We’ll be out before you know it.”

Strickler growled. “Good. It took you long enough to get here.”

The hands against the rope stilled. Confused, Strickler tried to look over his shoulder at Otto. “Is there a–”

Strickler gasped as pain flooded into his wrists. The rope dug harshly into his raw skin, tightening even further than before. He tugged against it, but his hands were held fast.

The color drained from Strickler’s face. “Otto,” he said, voice coming out as a croak, “we don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what, _mein Freund_?” A smile danced though his voice.

Strickler swallowed, panic rising in his chest. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? Just unite me.”

Another sharp pang caused Strickler’s breath to hitch. A low groan escaped his lips.

“What was that?” Otto said.

Strickler choked out his next words. “ _Please_ , Otto. Untie me, _please_.”

A pause. The seconds ticked by as Strickler dug his teeth into his tongue, stifling the pained noises rising in his throat.

Finally, the rope fell slack. With a sigh, Strickler brought his arms in front of him, rotating his stiff shoulders. Otto walked around the chair, then knelt to free his ankles.

Strickler waited until the last knot was undone before speaking up. “Was that really necessary?”

Otto chuckled, tossing the rope aside. He stood and looked down at the bloodied man. “Can you stand?”

Taking a deep breath, Strickler rose from the chair, only to immediately stumble over his feet. Otto’s eyes widened as he stepped forward into Strickler, catching him before he could tumble to the floor.

“Apparently not,” muttered Otto. His arm snaked around Strickler’s waist, holding him steady. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Strickler wrapped an arm around Otto’s shoulders, letting the man half-carry him toward the door. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Simple,” said Otto. “I’ve cleared a path. There’s a van waiting for us outside.”

“So there _are_ more changelings here,” Strickler said with a smile.

“Of course,” said Otto. “Surely you didn’t think I’d be willing to deal with you alone.”

Strickler’s laugh turned into a wince as he grabbed at his side. The movement wasn’t lost on Otto. “Is your rib broken?” he asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

“At least one.”

Otto hummed as they walked. “They may have to hospitalize you, Walt.”

“Ugh. Let’s hope not.”

The two reached the door. Otto turned the knob with his free hand and carefully helped Strickler into the hallway, who blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“I’m scheduled for a mission right after this,” Otto said, “but I’ll send flowers. How does blue salvia sound?”

Strickler sighed, letting himself lean into Otto. “Delightful.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written? Is the sky blue?
> 
> Big thanks to tumblr user strickbach for reading over the first draft!
> 
> If you want to yell with me about this extremely obscure ship, shoot me a message on my tumblr: otto-scaarbach


End file.
